


Random Old Snips of Fic

by anotherFMAfan



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherFMAfan/pseuds/anotherFMAfan
Summary: Moving the very last bits here from Livejournal in the name of not letting fic disappear.All the snips in this series stand alone. Summary for each is in the chapter notes.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Promptfic

**Author's Note:**

> Alphonse can’t understand something that Edward knows all-too-well. Angst, one-sided love. Rated T for language.
> 
> Originally posted in December 2008.

Alphonse was livid.

It wasn’t often Edward saw his little brother this angry, but he was positively fuming. His newly-regained cheeks were flushed and his hands fisted at his sides, his jaw clenched and his body rigid.

“How dare he? How _dare_ he!” he said for what seemed the thousandth time, turning abruptly to pace in the other direction.

“Al…” Edward said wearily, reaching a hand out to stop his next trip across the kitchen, but he only brushed past anyway.

“No, Ed! This is absolutely unacceptable. You can’t explain away his behavior this time.”

Ed sighed; his brother just didn’t get it. He opened one of the bottles of liquor on the table and poured himself a glass, paying little attention to the label. He wasn’t going to get smashed- he just wanted to ward off the headache beginning in his temples. Edward was surprisingly prone to terrible headaches these days, and once one got started there was usually little that could stop it. Of course, he’d been badgered to go see a doctor about it, but hell if he was doing that.

Al was muttering invective under his breath and peering out the front windows into the night again, and Edward sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Al! Quit gawking out there already, would ya?” he called. “He’s not coming.”

“How dare he,” he said, coming back into the kitchen. “If he really is out with some floozy—”

“You’ll what?” Ed asked flatly. “Hit him? Besides, the great Roy Mustang doesn’t date floozies. It’s just that all women are floozies for _him_.”

Al shot him a disapproving look.

“That’s not funny, brother.”

“No, it’s just true. Come on, Al,” he said, grabbing his hand cajolingly. “Let’s just drink and eat the damn cake and get to sleep.”

“This is an important day,” Al said stonily, refusing his Ed’s urging to sit. “He should be here.”

“It’s just another birthday, okay? You’ve already thrown me a great party. We’ve always celebrated just the two of us, right?” He gave his little brother a smile. Al’s lips remained a hard line, but gave in and plunked down in the chair.

“That’s more like it,” Ed said, pouring another glass. It was quiet for a while, Ed drinking deeply from his glass and Al staring moodily into his own, which his brother would end up finishing as usual. The ticking of the clock was too loud in the silent house, and only seemed to underline Alphonse’s brooding anger. Finally, Edward took a deep breath and looked the boy—man, almost—across from him in the eye.

“Listen, Al,” he began. “You can’t keep expecting him to be everything you want him to be. Our relationship isn’t exactly normal, you know? We don’t do this kind of stuff, this…mushy stuff. Anniversaries and Sunday mornings and shit…that’s just not how it goes.”

“I just don’t understand,” Alphonse said roughly. “This isn’t how love is supposed to be.”

Edward snorted derisively and kicked his chair back on two legs.

“Love? What’s _love_ got to do with it?"  
* * * *

The song by Tina Turner was on, and my friend prompted me to write a drabble about it.


	2. Untitled Ed>Roy Snip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward wakes after an unknown accident. 
> 
> Originally posted June 2008. Original was marked Ed→Roy.

It’s the feeling of a dream when you know you are asleep; without anything quite solid, you are somewhat comforted by the fact that no matter what happens, it does not matter. I drift silently, and all around me is silent until I focus on that fact. Now I can hear them, voices. Muted and strange, familiar but distorted. The sound of one of them makes my chest tight, and though my subconscious understands the reason, I still don’t. Or perhaps my chest feels tight for another reason? I can sense now, sharp and not like the dream- a pain, like damaged flesh. I can still feel that sometimes in the fingers of my right hand, or in my knee that now serves someone else’s leg.

I can almost understand the words, now, of the voice that floats, within and without me. I can feel that sound shake almost in time with the grip on my hand, and I realize it is the voice that holds it captive. Rapidly, like a roll downhill, the other sensations fill in, and I want to cringe back inside myself rather than face them. Pain, and a burning in my skin. My ears ring and my throat must be cracked from thirst. I am glad that my eyes are rebellious, and do not follow the others in bringing me agony. They remain blissfully shut, and now I can understand the words…or perhaps I’ve been listening all along. The words repeat, incomplete and oddly cut, only one strain of a symphony never to be finished.

_Please, please, oh god, please, please no…._

Now I know the voice, and it brings comfort despite the desperate fear and pain in the sound. It is ragged and hoarse, but it is his, and I love him.

_Oh god, please forgive me, please, Edward…._

The other voices are also present, but unimportant and I leave them to fade back into the depths of soundless void that have regained some ground from the sharp awareness…if that is indeed such. Riza is one, I realize, but I can no longer hear her, only him.

_Edward, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please, please forgive me…._

I know without attempt that I cannot move, that I haven’t drifted so far from dreams that I am capable of that. My wishes to squeeze his hand, kiss it, kiss _him_ and soothe him somehow are useless, and would be even were I able. That is a reality I am brutally aware of, now and in all states.

_Oh, please, I didn’t mean it, please forgive me, Ed…._

I forgive him, ignorant of my suffering though I may be, for knowledge of the sin not necessary for benediction. Telling him such is as impossible as my other, more fantastic desires, but only because of the pain in my throat and the numbness that is creeping back over me, to cover me completely. It is thick… I can feel the depth of it, and know my submersion is imminent, inevitable. Doesn’t matter, nothing quite solid, like a dream.

I listen carefully to his voice as the sound fades away, now reduced to broken, wordless sobbing as I drift, and know nothingness.

* * *

If I ever had something in mind as to what happened, I sure don’t remember it anymore, so imagine it as you please.


	3. Salt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only posted part of what was originally going to be a series.
> 
> I didn’t leave myself many notes on the setting, but for some reason Roy was demoted, and vindictively assigned to the recently-promoted Ed’s command entirely because they thought it would drive Mustang out of his mind. I remember that much. I also remember that eventually Roy and Ed had sex in a tent; wish I’d written that part first! Lol.

“Pass me the salt.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Edward paused, arm still extended for the requested object, looking at the blond lieutenant like he’d spat on his shoes.

“ _Geez_ , Havoc!” he complained.

“Sorry, Boss, it’s automatic,” the lieutenant replied with a shrug, chagrinned. “You’re my C.O.”

Ed shot him another wounded look as he accepted the shaker, thoroughly dousing the tasteless ration meat with it before setting it back down.

“I asked for the salt, not a frickin’ assault rifle.”

“ _Assault_ rifle…clever, Fullmetal,” Mustang mocked from the other end of the table.

“What—? Oh, fuck off already, I didn’t do that on purpose!” Ed groused, stabbing his limp green beans irritably.

“Should have known,” Mustang intoned to Breda beside him, who wisely did not reply.

Edward glared across the table at the man, planting an Automail elbow on the roughly-hewn wooden table hard enough to make the silverware rattle, and stabbed a finger at the offender.

“Alright, General Smartass, you will seriously shut the fuck up unless you want this fork chucked in your face, you got me?”

“Oh, understood, _Sir_ ,” Mustang smirked. “And it’s ‘Major Smartass,’ if you don’t mind… _Sir_.”

Fullmetal slapped the stable hard and rose to his feet.

“Not worth it,” Havoc besought him, holding up his hands to forestall the minute teenager’s rage.

“Just ignore him, Colo—ah, Edward,” Fuery amended apologetically.

“Try taking deep breaths,” advised Falman.

“Sir, do you mind?” Breda said reasonably, throwing Mustang a bland look. “You’re not the only one who has to deal with him when you work him up like this.”

“Hey!” Fullmetal sputtered, red in the face with anger.

“That’s quite true,” Mustang agreed gleefully, trying to keep a straight face, but unable to keep hints of delight from sparkling in his eyes. “But don’t worry, the little colonel’s bark is _much_ worse than his bite.”

For the next few minutes, chaos reigned over the picnic table.

______________________________

Hawkeye walked up the hill toward where the team had settled down for the evening. They’d been lucky to find this property. More than half of the farmhouse was burned to the ground, and they’d determined it was too great a risk of collapse to try to salvage anything from what remained—but the well, the picnic table and the outhouse were perfectly serviceable. It was a relief both to have a proper toilet and not to have to balance canisters of rations on their knees for once.

As she reached the top of the hill the table came into sight, her six companions seated around it. To her surprise, they were silent, each focused on the plate in front of them. She approached the table and sat down, looking at each of them in turn. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, though Mustang was leaning his forehead on his hand as he ate, looking rather less cheerful than he had. Edward, too, was looking sullen, but then again, he’d been in a bad mood all day. Come to think of it, hadn’t his hair-antenna been much longer? Perhaps it was just her imagination.

“Well,” Hawkeye said. “This is a refreshing surprise.”

No one responded, which she found rather odd. Still, silence was an improvement considering the way the Mustang and Edward had been going at each other the last few days. Just as she was about to begin eating herself, she noticed that Edward was spearing his food with one metal finger, transmuted to a point.

“Sir,” she asked with a frown. “What happened to the fork I gave you?”

The table went deathly still. There was a long pause.

“He mislaid it,” Mustang said finally.

“Yeah,” Fullmetal agreed, meeting his eye. “I mislaid it.”

And suddenly the tension that had gripped the men relaxed, and the meal resumed as normal. Hawkeye, however, was no closer to understanding what on earth had happened in the few minutes she’d been away from the table, and never did find out.


	4. The Truth Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed breaking the truth to Roy about their first night together, which in the original setting was Roy’s first time with a man.
> 
> First written early 2008.

* * *

“You’re joking,”

“I’m not joking.”

Mustang sent a suspicious glare in the direction of his long-time lover.

“Okay, very funny. Now just admit that you’re lying. “

“I’m _not_ lying,” Edward insisted, trying to keep his lips from curling up in amusement. “You told me we needed to be honest with each other. “

“Edward,” he said flatly, “I am well aware of my own abilities.” Despite his words, Ed saw doubt in his eyes.

“I’m not saying anything against your abilities _now_. You’re a great lay. Hell, you’re fucking fantastic. But I’m telling the truth.”

Roy folded his arms across his chest, giving him a pleading look. Edward could see him trying to hold out hope.

“Promise me you’re not lying.”

“I’m not lying, Roy. I promise.”

With that the last of Roy’s ego seemed to shatter, and he gave a tortured moan before flopping sideways to bury his head in the bedcovers.

“Oh, come on,” Ed said, unable to keep the grin from his face as he sat beside Roy’s buried head. “It was ages ago.”

“I’m a disgrace.”

“You’re not a disgrace, Roy,” Ed said, running his hand over his back soothingly.

“I’m a failure of a man,” lamented the muffled voice.

“It was what, fifteen years ago? It doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“It does matter. It matters hugely! It was the most important time of all!”

“Oh, come on, I’m here, right?”

“A miracle,” he mumbled.

“Despite what you think, I do love more than just your cock,” Ed commented.

“Maybe you do now, but that was a crucial time! It was the most important night of all!”

“So you keep saying,” Edward said, rolling his eyes.

Suddenly, Mustang’s dark head popped up.

“Was it really that bad?”

“It…well,” Ed fumbled, eyes skirting away from Roy’s.

He gave another agonized groan and smacked his head back against the bed.

Edward couldn’t help but laugh a little, though he tried to make up for it by placing a kiss on the crown of his loved one’s head.

* * *

(After I posted this on LJ, I was pretty thoroughly reamed out in the comments about how being “good in bed” is individual to the person, and everyone needs time to learn what their partner likes. Which, yes, I do know is true IRL.)


End file.
